


Hell

by Sachete



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Post-Sburb/Sgrub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 01:38:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6033337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sachete/pseuds/Sachete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mornings are hell. Let's get that out there. But they're also quiet and gentle and calm. They're a special kind of hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell

It’s still dark out when I measure out the coffee grounds and sit slumped-over at the kitchen table, mercifully still alive but unmercifully not still asleep. I listen to the sputter and steam of the old coffee machine, the fragrance of the “gourmet” flavored grounds a well-meaning Jade had given us last Christmas wafting through the kitchen. It had been sitting in the freezer for months, but we ran out of the regular yesterday. My stomach growls. I think with little hope that coffee will stave off the hunger.

I accidentally pour too much cream in the first cup, but the heat masks the flavor and warmth tingles down my throat and through my veins nonetheless. It’s during this first sip that Karkat drags himself out of the bedroom and slumps at the table, too, probably woken by the machine’s beeping. I pretend to be mister bright-eyed bushy-tailed and say good morning with a smile too big and eyes too wide for this hellish time of day. He snorts.

“It’s too early to be alive.”

“Hey, you stole that line from another fanfiction. Try again.”

“No. It’s true.”

I hum and take another sip, and this time I can definitely taste the cream. It sits sour in my mouth. “Coffee?” I offer.

“Sure.”

“Get it yourself.”

“Bastard.”

It feels like it’s only been five minutes since I last looked out the window into a world of black, and maybe it was, but now the sun is rising and the trees are silvery blue and green. I don’t know why it takes me by surprise, but it does, every morning. After all that time in the game, sunrises still startle me.

My coffee doesn’t last as long as I hoped—the first cup never does—and I mistakenly pick up the mug to take a sip of nothing in the hopes that it will magically refill itself three times before giving up. My stomach is still complaining.

“Make me some eggs while you’re up,” I say when he stands to get his coffee. He flips me the bird and doesn’t make eggs. Oh well. Worth a try. Maybe one day.

We play this game of get up, sit down, refuse to do anything for the other before I get sick of it and grab the egg pan. “Fried or scrambled?”

“Over-easy.”

“I think we have bologna in here somewhere.”

“What is bologna even.”

“This package says one hundred percent beef.” I plop a slice into the pan to fry. “Too bad. Takes away the charming mystery I’ve come to accept from ground meat products.”

“Gross.”

We eat it, though, and it’s delicious. Karkat picks around the soft center, delaying the tidal wave and instead scooping up the in-tact yolk and devouring it whole. I’m a more sensible person and mix my whites and yolks into a runny mash and eat it with pieces of bologna. The sun keeps rising.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my [Tumblr.](http://sachete.tumblr.com)


End file.
